


Three the Hard Way

by TableForThree_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Time, Multi, Post-Half-Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-07
Updated: 2006-01-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4688186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TableForThree_Archivist/pseuds/TableForThree_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bloody hell, it's the only way! The best way! The three of us ... Ron doesn't want to take no for an answer. Post-Hogwarts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Jonathan Andrew Sheen, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Table for Three](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Table_for_Three). When traffic and uploads slowed to a trickle, it became difficult to justify the hosting expenses. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Table for Three collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/triofic/profile).  
> -  
> My second go at trio fic. Comments and concrit most appreciated.
> 
> * * *

Three the Hard Way by heronmy_weasley

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** My second go at trio fic. Comments and concrit most appreciated.

* * *

  
"No!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"No?" Ron looked calmly from one livid face to the other. "Right, then. Subject closed."  
  
Without waiting for a reply or for Hermione and Harry's faces to unfreeze from their stricken expressions, Ron turned back to his food. They were in one of their favourite Muggle restaurants in London, though Ron had to admit that it got tiring sometimes having to reach and grab for things instead of just pointing one's wand at it like a wizarding establishment. It was worth it for the steak-and-kidney pie alone, though.  
  
"Ronald! Stop stuffing your face this instant!" Hermione had recovered fully and was scowling mightily at him. A few people at nearby tables turned around to look, but she took no notice. "You can't just - just say something like that and go back to eating as if nothing's gone wrong!"  
  
Ron looked up then with a puzzled frown. Swallowing hard, he managed, "What are you on about? What's gone wrong?"  
  
"You ... you ..." Hermione looked to Harry for support. Finding very little encouragement there, she focused on Ron again, giving his hand a smart rap when he reached for a bowl of pickles. "You're not taking this seriously at all!"  
  
"I _am_. But I'm bloody starving! It was a tough practice and I feel like a Kneazle's trying to gnaw its way out of my stomach." Rubbing his hand, Ron looked sideways at Harry. "Mate, mind passing those biscuits?"  
  
That seemed to shake Harry out of his stupor. "Ron ... did you hear a word either of us said?"  
  
Ron feared that in all this _very serious_ discussion, very little eating would be done, and steak-and-kidney pie was utter rubbish when cold. He knew, too, that Hermione and Harry would keep at him until he said something more, though he wasn't quite sure what more there was _to_ say. Shovelling in a few large mouthfuls and washing it down with a swallow of bitters, he looked up with noticeable reluctance.  
  
"I heard the both of you." He regarded them quietly, shoving down a spark of desire that was working its way up from his toes and pooling in a very particular area. "And I gave my answer. And you both said 'No.'"  
  
Ron saw a panicked, almost helpless, look pass between his two best friends. "Ron, I don't think you understand," Hermione said in a much gentler tone than she had used a few moments earlier. "We - maybe Harry and I weren't as clear as we could've been -"  
  
"I reckon I understood you fine," Ron said with a wry smile. "You're in love with me." He turned from Hermione's blushing face and stared Harry down. "And _you're_ in love with me." Harry went scarlet, and ducked his head. "And you want me to choose between you. And I won't do it."  
  
It wasn't lost on Ron how casual he sounded, but he knew he felt anything but casual at that moment. In fact, his hands were trembling and he thought it was just as well that he wasn't trying to use a fork at that moment. He was sure that knowing him as they did, Harry and Hermione realised that he wasn't being a prat. Not deliberately anyway. The thing of it was, Ron had long ago resigned himself to living a fairly ordinary life. The war was long over, and while he had an Order of Merlin and a strife-free world to show for it, Ron hadn't exactly been let in on the relatively cushy rewards that had awaited Harry and Hermione.  
  
Harry had transformed from the Boy Who Lived to the Man Who Could Have Anything He Wanted after he defeated Voldemort. He was able to live comfortably on the remnants of his parents' galleons and Sirius Black's fortune and he spent much of his time writing a chronicle of the war and acting as an occasional Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts.  
  
As befitted the brightest witch of her age, Hermione had been snapped up by the Ministry and had risen from a slightly tedious research position at the MLE to Undersecretary in Charge of Magical Legislation. There were whispers that Hermione was on the short list to replace Amos Diggory as Assistant Minister for Magic next year and certainly Hermione was well-respected and admired in her post.  
  
In comparison, Ron was living a perfectly respectable - if not particularly noteworthy - existence. He was a backup to the backup Keeper on the Cannons and saw about as much playing time each year as Severus Snape did proper baths. He had a rather nice, but small, flat in Chudley, and a tidy sum of money in the bank.  
  
In short, His life was fine, but rather ordinary. Harry and Hermione's confessions to him that night had so much potential to make his life very much _less_ ordinary, but apparently it wasn't to be. Ron smothered a sigh and eyed his tankard of ale longingly. _Just my bloody luck._  
  
"There's more to it than that, I mean, it's ..." Harry began in a low voice before taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We shouldn't have done this. Spring it on you this way. _Here_." He took a noisy gulp of air. "But we were afraid we'd lose our nerve if we tried to talk to you in your flat or one of ours. And we thought there was a lot less chance of you apparating away if you felt weird about what we had to say."  
  
Ron found it interesting that Harry and Hermione felt more at ease baring their hearts in a pub full of Muggles than in a place that was more familiar and comfortable to all of them, but he let it go.  
  
"But why now?" he asked, head whipping from side to side. "Why tell me this _now_?"  
  
There was another curious glance that flitted between the two. "We'd hoped," said Hermione in a halting voice, "We'd hoped that if you fancied one of us, you would have chosen by now." A brief smile lit her face. "When Harry and I realised that we both fancied you, we -"  
  
"Wait - when did you know _that_?"  
  
"That we both wanted you?" Hermione's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I suppose after we got back to Hogwarts for seventh year."  
  
"You both started to fancy me in seventh year?" Ron's voice was subtly disbelieving. Hermione had made Head Girl and Harry returned as Quidditch captain for Gryffindor, and he'd thought that the two of them had been much too busy to fancy anyone, least of all _him_ , especially after the summer they'd had hunting Horcruxes and preparing for the battle ahead. Certainly Hermione had seemed to resist his overtures that they take their friendship to another level. Likewise, when Ron let drop several hints that he wasn't above admiring a bloke's arse, Harry hadn't seemed to respond. Ron had initially thought that Harry was still in mourning for his lost relationship with Ginny, but when Ginny had resumed her relationship with Dean and Harry hadn't so much blinked about it, Ron knew that he'd been mistaken.  
  
"No, we didn't just begin to fancy you then," Hermione said. "I ... I knew fourth year." She looked slightly embarassed. "I truly hated that it took so long for you to notice that I was - as you so eloquently put it - a _girl_. I'd quite noticed what a _boy_ you were well before then."  
  
Ron very much disliked remembering how much time he'd wasted back then when it had come to Hermione. It was a wonder that she hadn't thrown her hands up in disgust and given him up completely. Forcing the thought out his mind, he looked to Harry, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Fifth year for me," Harry said, eyes going hazy behind his glasses. "You have _no_ idea how fit you looked in Wood's old Quidditch robes, mate."  
  
"I ..." Ron cleared his throat, not quite sure how to respond to any of what had just been said. "Oh."  
  
"What happened seventh year was that we realised that _both_ of us fancied you about the same. I mean, I was pretty sure that you fancied Hermione and I didn't have a chance, but I thought I saw you checking out Davies' arse a few times, so I had to wonder ..."  
  
Ron almost choked. So Harry _had_ been paying attention to his little "hints" after all.  
  
"Hermione caught me staring at you a couple of times," continued Harry, passing the biscuits at last. "And one day we just started discussing our feelings."  
  
Ron shook his head in amazement. "Where the bloody hell was _I_ when all this was going on?"  
  
"Well, when we talked about you, we were usually in the library, revising for N.E.W.T.s," said Hermione with a fond smile. "You were usually in the common room playing chess with Seamus."  
  
"I was revising, too, you know!" Ron spoke with a little heat as unwelcome memories of tests and classes flooded his brain. "Just because I didn't have my nose in a book all hours of the day -"  
  
"Er, anyway, it just came up," Harry said hurriedly, earning a reluctant smile from Ron. "I asked Hermione if you and she were ... you know ..."  
  
"And I asked Harry if you and he were ..." Hermione made a most distracting movement with her hand. "And we realised that neither of us was with you and both of us wanted to be. That presented a bit of a problem."  
  
_No it doesn't!_ Ron wanted to shout it, but he held his tongue. _That_ little idea had already been shot down, and he didn't want dinner to end with Hermione or Harry or both leaving the dinner table in a huff.  
  
"So we decided to just wait and see," said Harry, fiddling with his napkin. "We agreed that we'd make it _your_ choice. We wouldn't approach you or put any pressure on you. If you wanted to be with Hermione, I told her I'd be happy for both of you and accept it ..."  
  
"... And I promised Harry the same thing if you chose him." Hermione paused. "And we promised each other that if you chose someone _else_ , we'd support you and try our best to be happy about it."  
  
Ron could tell that neither Harry nor Hermione much desired that last option. "I still don't understand why you're just coming to me with this _now_ ," said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. "It's been 10 years since we left Hogwarts!"  
  
"Well, as we said, we'd thought that by now, you would have someone - either me or Harry or someone else," replied Hermione. "As the years past and Harry and I realised that our feelings hadn't changed, we just relied on each other to be patient and keep up our end of the bargain."  
  
"But the other night at Neville and Luna's engagement party, we decided that we had to change tactics a little." Harry was studying him intently. "You had us concerned, mate, and we thought that maybe we'd been going about things the wrong way."  
  
Ron was momentarily confused, but then it dawned on him what Harry was referring to. A few nights ago, the three of them had gone to toast Neville and Luna, who had stopped nittering around each other and were getting married later that Spring. Ron had been a little depressed at the party and had more champagne than was probably good for him.  
  
As he'd gotten slowly pissed at the celebration, Ron reflected that as content as he was in most respects, some aspects of life were passing him by. Just about all his friends were settling down and he was very much alone. Occasionally, he'd invite a bloke or a bird home, but he didn't have any serious relationships in the offing.  
  
Seeing Luna and Neville so happy and in love had made him just a tad bitter, and he'd gotten in his cups, going on and on incoherently about feeling as if he were going die alone. Hermione and Harry had helped him home and tucked him in, staying with him until he dozed off. The next day, Ron woke with only a vague recollection of the events of the previous night and a mouth that felt as if a Niffler had died in it. Remembering it now, Ron winced to think of how pathetic he must have sounded.  
  
"We couldn't let you go on believing that no one wanted you, that you didn't have any hope of a loving and long-lastng relationship," Hermione said. "So we discussed it and decided that since we jointly decided to withhold our feelings, we needed to approach you together and hope you didn't hate us for thrusting this on you."  
  
Ron was quiet for a second, feeling a slow anger begin to burn in his stomach. He was reasonably sure that it wasn't because of the pie. "And you really expected me to just listen to all this and pick between you? Flip a galleon, maybe, and tell the loser, 'Oh well, no joy there, mate', like it was nothing?"  
  
"We didn't expect - or hope for - anything except that you'd listen to us," Harry said, gripping his mug of beer. "If you wanted to make a choice, that was your right. If you wanted to tell us both to piss off, that was up to you, too. We just didn't want you to go on thinking that you _had_ to be alone if you didn't want to. We love you, Ron." Harry's voice was soft. "But if you don't want either of us, we'll live with it."  
  
Ron did a silent count to four before again trotting out his initial response. "I want both of you. If the two of you are saying you want me, then I'm saying I want the two of you."  
  
Their faces hardened and Ron felt his heart sink. "Ron, we've already said that it isn't an option. Harry and I have absolutely no interest in having a relationship with each other." Hermione shot Harry an almost apologetic look. "We want _you_ , alone. If you can't choose, well, I suppose that means that neither of us can have you."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see Harry nodding slightly. Ron started to speak, but thought better of it. It was on the tip of his tongue to rail at the two of them for doing this to him, raising his hopes and then dashing them almost in the same breath. The idea of being with Harry and Hermione at the same time had existed in his mind only as shadowy fantasies, and here it seemed he had the chance to make them reality. They both loved _him_. They both wanted _him_. And since the three of them had been best friends for years, it seemed to Ron that all of them being together was a natural next step in their relationship, especially if Harry and Hermione had been telling the truth about keeping back out of respect for the others' feelings.  
  
_But they don't want it._ Ron wondered why he felt so irritated by that. Two brilliant, beautiful people wanting him all to themselves - it should have made him feel a touch smug, but Ron didn't feel so at all. He was quite serious about not wanting choosing. As polite as their little agreement sounded, Ron was almost certain that whoever was left out of the "Ron Weasley bonanza" might feel quite hurt, indeed, and he'd rather tear his own heart out than cause either of them any of them pain. But for all that, it seemed a bloody waste that they'd all bottle up these feelings and cast them aside altogether.  
  
_Bloody hell, it's the only way! The best way! The three of us ..._ His mind presented an arresting vision of a large bed, a tangle of naked limbs and hair ... kisses placed indiscriminately on whatever stretch of skin was readily accessible. Ron swallowed hard, glancing at the two of them in turns. Their expressions were unchanged, and he sighed. That was it, then. No use beating his head against a wall.  
  
"Then that's the way it's going to be," he said in a low voice. "Because I can't pick one of you over the other. I won't."  
  
Harry blinked and nodded once. Hermione flushed a deep red, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. "We respect your decision, Ron," she said, lifting her chin a little. "I suppose then it might be time for all of us to think about moving on, then."  
  
A lump the size of a gobstone lodged in Ron's throat, and he found he needed to take a long pull on his drink. Over his mug, he saw Harry's lips tremble a little, but his face was impassive. Hermione, on the other hand, looked like a person who was speaking in a daze, hardly aware of what she was saying.  
  
"And ... we know that it's a great deal to ask, but ... we hope that you understand that we thought long and hard about talking to you about this at all," Hermione went on, "and one of our fears was that our friendship would suffer. We hope that doesn't happen: All of this aside, our friendship means a great deal, and -"  
  
"No worries there," Ron interrupted. He wanted to put them both at ease, but he wasn't sure he could take hearing Hermione go on and on about "friendship." Not after all this.  
  
"Nothing'll ever come in the way of that. Ever. And it was ... I think it was ..." He chewed his lip, trying to choose his words carefully. "It was right brave of the both of you, telling me at all. I'm just sorry it -"  
  
Ron thought it just as well to stop talking before he put his foot in it again. He focused his attention elsewhere, not wanting them to be able to look into his eyes and discover that he was lying. He knew bloody well that it _wasn't_ all right and he really didn't understand at all. It all seemed so simple; why were they resisting? Before, during, and after the war, they'd shared just about everything. Why not share each other?  
  
Ron's gaze fell on his plate, and he pushed away from him in a half-hearted movement. He wasn't hungry at all anymore.  
  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at [Table for Three](http://www.triofic.com) \- <http://www.triofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=193>


	2. Chapter 2

Ron was sure that after the smoke cleared from Harry and Hermione's bombshell, he wouldn't be seeing much of either of them for awhile. And unsurprisingly, a day after their dinner, he received two owls – within minutes of each other, naturally – from Harry and Hermione, respectively, announcing sudden "business trips" that would take them out of England for a week or two. The language in both letters was suspiciously similar, and Ron wondered if they'd sat down and written them together. He reflected briefly that Harry and Hermione did so much with each other that it was a wonder that not only hadn't they fucked before now, but that they didn't seem to want to at all.  
  
Part of him thought that it was just as well that they all keep their distance for awhile. After dinner that night, they'd tried their hand at changing the subject and keeping up a conversation, but none of their hearts were really into it. They'd called it a night early, and Ron hurried back to his flat, spending the night imagining Harry's mouth on his belly and Hermione's breasts pressed against his chest. After doing a fair amount of moaning, he lay awake for hours afterward, wondering if perhaps time was all that was needed for Harry and Hermione to come around. He had planted the idea in their minds; it just needed a bit of time, maybe, to take root and germinate.  
  
If Ron had assumed that their absence would push his longing for the both of them to the side, he was doomed to disappointment. For one, he received frequent owls from the two of them during the time they were gone. Harry was in Brussels interviewing some retired Aurors for his book. Hermione was in Strasbourg on Ministry business. Their letters were lively and interesting, and though neither Harry nor Hermione mentioned anything about the "talk," Ron's heart beat a little faster at the "Love, Harry" or "Love, Hermione" scrawled at the end of the scrolls.  
  
But the tipping point came one day after morning practise. Harry and Hermione had been gone for five days when Jamie Livor, a spotty-faced Beater, swaggered into the changing room, eager to regale his mates with the story of his night with two women.  
  
The previous night, just about everyone on the team had gone to a nearby pub, and several members of the Cannons saw Livor chatting up two pretty witches. Ron was vaguely surprised when he heard the breathless news that Livor apparated away with both of them, but he honestly thought that Livor couldn't have gotten very far. Ron had seen the women only briefly, but he couldn't imagine that either of them was so hard up for a shag that they'd go off with the likes of Livor.  
  
But to hear Livor tell it, not only had they been pleased to be with him, but they'd tried to outdo each other in pleasing him. In fact, he tried to excuse his poor play that morning by saying that he'd been "sucked dry." Ron rolled his eyes at that; Livor tended to play like boiled arse most of the time, anyway, and Ron doubted constant sex was the cause. He'd not really been interested in hearing Livor go on about something that very likely was going to be greatly exaggerated, but he found himself on the fringes of the crowd, drawn into the story.  
  
"It was bloody amazing." Livor spoke with eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the ceiling. "They started off by sucking my cock. Taking turns, you know -"  
  
"I'm surprised you had enough to go around, mate!" someone yelled from the back of the crowd. Ron and several others laughed heartily. Livor didn't open his eyes, but his smile deflated a little.  
  
"Piss off." There was a short pause. Ron grinned to himself, sure he wasn't the only one who noticed that Livor wasn't trying to defend the state - or size - of his manhood.  
  
"Anyway, I didn't want to go off too quickly, so I started shagging one. Mumsy, I think it was. Or maybe it was Mimsy. I couldn't really tell -"  
  
Another voice rang out: "Bugger the names, did they have big knockers?" There was a murmur throughout the crowd that seemed to imply that this was an essential question.  
  
"Not really, but it didn't matter. Between the two of them, they had enough." Livor sighed in contentment. "While I was fucking one, the other was holding the other girl's tits. That blew my fucking mind!"  
  
Ron noticed several men shifting about and loosening their towels so that their arousal wasn't readily evident. To his embarrassment, he found himself among them. Like them, he was imagining himself in Livor's place. But in his fantasy, it was Hermione who was sliding on his cock, her beautiful head tossed back in ecstasy. In his mind's eye, he saw tendrils of her hair resting on Harry's shoulder, who was kneeling behind her kissing her neck and squeezing and stroking her breasts.  
  
Oh fuck ... Ron discreetly adjusted himself and willed his mind to clear. He had just about gotten things back under control when Livor responded to a question Ron had missed.  
  
"... Well, yeah, but it do much for me, honestly." Livor made a distressed face. "But I couldn't bloody well stop, could I? I'm still pounding away at one, and so when the other plopped down on my face, I just had to get on with it without thinking about it too much. Wasn't too bad, actually. I got to hold her hips while I used my tongue on her. I thought she'd take my head off, she was moving around so much!"  
  
As those around him offered loud and rather offensive commentary on the merits of pleasuring a woman that way, Ron was thrust again into a series of lusty thoughts. It wasn't Hermione he was tasting, however; it was Harry who was straddling his face, feeding him his cock. The image of sucking Harry off and fucking Hermione at the same time almost sent Ron off the deep end then and there. Turning, he walked quickly toward the relative safety of the showers, thankful that Livor's voice was becoming fainter and fainter.  
  
Gasping a little, Ron stopped outside one of the stalls and rested his head on the cool wall tiles. Stroking himself a little through his towel, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. There was no way he would be able to look at either of them without thinking of both of them, and the chance that they were all letting slip through their fingers.  
  
He froze when he heard a rustling sound inches away from him, and a voice at his back.  
  
"Oi, Weasley! I didn't know anyone was back here yet."  
  
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ridley Emerson, a reserve Seeker. His usually pale face was painfully red, and Ron soon knew the reason why. His eyes darted downward, lingering for a moment on the bulge in his towel before he dragged his gaze up again. The blush on Emerson's face deepened to a frightening purple.  
  
"Livor still running his gob?" Ron averted his eyes briefly as he spoke. He'd always thought Emerson was a good-looking bloke, and they'd done something close to flirting in the past. He recalled Hermione's opinion that the three of them should think about "moving on" now that Ron had made his "choice."  
  
"A bit. People're beginning to lose interest. Livor has a way of making anything sound boring after a while. Even sex." Emerson laughed hollowly. "Got to admit though, listening to him sort of makes you want to go out and find two birds to shag, eh?"  
  
"Not bloody likely." Ron found himself staring at Emerson's lips. His bottom lip was fuller than the top, Ron noticed idly. Like Harry's. "The idea of two birds doesn't do a thing for me."  
  
A long silence spun out. Ron took another peek downward and saw that the towel was tented out even more obviously than before.  
  
"You're an odd one, Weasley," Emerson said at last, walking on. Ron followed him with his eyes, breath hitching when Emerson dropped his towel and gave him a searching glance over his shoulder before disappearing into one of the shower cubicles.  
  
Ron waited a minute before stepping into the confined darkness of his own shower stall. With a deep breath, he reached for the taps, making the water as cold as he could stand it.  
  
****  
  
Two days later, Ridley Emerson waylaid Ron after afternoon practise and quietly asked if he wanted to get a drink after evening drills. Five hours after that, rushing home to change for what he could only assume was a date, Ron apparated into his living room to find Harry sitting on the couch flipping through a copy of Quaffle Quarterly.  
  
"Bloody hell!" Ron reared back in shock. "What are you doing here?" He'd tweaked the wards in his flat to allow Harry, Hermione and most of his family to apparate in and out at will, but he wasn't really used to anyone just dropping in without sending an owl first.  
  
Noticing Harry's crestfallen expression, Ron improvised a smile and made his tone light. "I mean, I didn't think you'd want to be shot of Brussels this fast. Weather's nicer over there than here, innit?"  
  
Harry relaxed and smiled a little. "Barely. I guess you didn't get my owl?"  
  
"Uh ... you sent an owl? Today?" Ron immediately felt guilty. Letters and other correspondence were usually delivered to the locker room in the afternoon, but he'd been preoccupied with thoughts of Emerson and just what might happen that evening that he hadn't thought to check.  
  
"It wasn't important. Just wanted to let you know I was back and that I'd be popping round." Harry put the magazine down. "Hermione got in last night."  
  
"Yeah?" Ron again had the sense that Harry and Hermione were choreographing their actions in some respects, but for what purpose, he wasn't entirely certain.  
  
"We'd wondered if you wanted to have dinner with us tonight. Uh, no surprises this time." Harry chuckled nervously. "Hermione's still working on some reports she has to turn in, so it'd be a late one."  
  
"Uh ... well ... I sort of, um ..." Ron made a conscious effort not to squirm. "I sort of have plans tonight, mate."  
  
"Oh." Harry's expression was indecipherable. "What're you up to?"  
  
"Just a drink with, uh, some of the guys." Well, that's just about the truth, anyway. "They keep after me to go and get pissed with them, and I've been avoiding them, mainly. I figured that if I went a couple of nights, they'd let up a bit."  
  
"Good plan, that." Ron thought that Harry sounded a little too nonchalant. "You'll be gone the whole night then?"  
  
"Most likely. Maybe we all could get together sometime later in the week? Weekend looks pretty clear for me. Since Dad retired, Mum's been letting up on the Sunday dinners. They want to spend more time alone." Ron didn't even want to contemplate how his parents were spending their newfound free time. Harry didn't want to think about it, either, judging by his expression.  
  
"That'd be great. Just let us know." Harry got awkwardly to his feet. "Sorry again for dropping in on you this way. If I'd known you hadn't gotten my owl, I would have tried Flooing you at the complex or something."  
  
"It's all right. You know you're welcome any time." Ron was annoyed by the stilted, polite back-and-forth. If they were serious about not wanting anything to change between them, acting as if things already had wouldn't do anybody any good.  
  
Grinning suddenly, Ron clipped Harry on the shoulder. "I'm glad to have you back, mate. I tried to have a go at wizard's chess with one of the blokes on the team." He pulled a face. "It wasn't the same as being with you; the wanker kept winning!"  
  
Harry laughed loudly and some of the tension left the room. "Might be losing your touch. Hermione said she got you a few times."  
  
"Yeah, I'm breaking in a new set. Sodding gits keep arguing with me about my counter moves, especially the rooks. Distracting little buggers."  
  
"Well, you can get used to kicking my arse again this weekend. It's about what I deserve, I guess, after the other night."  
  
Ron's laughter died when he saw Harry's somber expression. "We really didn't mean to blindside you. I don't think we ever did give you a proper apology. As it is, we're just glad you don't hate us now."  
  
"Hate you for loving me?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "I'm not that mad. Yet." He blew out a breath when Harry didn't even attempt a smile. "You and Hermione are my best friends. The other night won't change that. Nothing will."  
  
"We know that, rationally, I suppose. It's just that we really hadn't thought far enough ahead about how it all might go. Well, Hermione tried to, but I knew that if I let her reason it out, she'd find a way of talking both of us out of doing it. And we both wanted to tell you." Harry was quiet a minute. "And then when you said you wanted the both of us ..."  
  
Ron's heart started to pound, and he thought he'd collapse on the floor when Harry stopped talking. "Yeah?"  
  
"We ... I guess we were just thrown by it, you know? We'd anticipated just about every response you might give us, but we never thought you'd come up with something like that," said Harry with a thoughtful frown. "And we weren't sure if you weren't just trying to let us down easy by saying that you wanted it that way."  
  
"'Let you down easy?'" Ron repeated, with a furrowed brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"You know ... it was a rather diplomatic answer." Harry gave another humourless chuckle. "Hermione and I thought maybe you just didn't want to hurt us by saying you weren't interested in either of us, really, so you threw out wanting us both because you didn't want to choose."  
  
Ron just stared for a moment, not quite believing what he was hearing. The two of them had gone on about how difficult it had been to admit their feelings. He had respected that; and in return, one of his most intimate secrets was being dismissed out of hand as an attempt to "let them down easy."  
  
Ron wasn't sure what changed in his face, but Harry's smile totally vanished and was replaced by an apprehensive expression.  
  
"I mean ... I suppose we understood that you might be serious, but we thought maybe you - er ... I mean, you had to know that she and I have never felt that way about each other. Um ..." Harry's voice trailed off, and he ran a shaking hand over his hair. "I think I'd better go. You wouldn't want to keep your mates waiting, yeah?"  
  
Harry started to pass him and something clicked in Ron's brain. Almost without thinking, he reached out and grabbed hold of Harry's arm, spinning him round so that they stood face to face. Ron took a moment to order his thoughts, gazing into Harry's eyes until he felt him relax just the tiniest bit.  
  
"Do you remember," Ron began in a voice that wavered just the tiniest bit, "when we were all in the forest right before the last battle? I was sick and out of my head, and you and Hermione wouldn't go on and leave me like I said you should?"  
  
After a beat, Harry nodded grimly. Ron suppressed a shiver at the memory of the three days he'd hovered between life and death. A group of Death Eaters, having heard the news that the main offensive was coming at them through the Forbidden Forest, had set about poisoning anything remotely edible there with a wasting potion.  
  
One innocent-looking handful of berries had felled Ron, and he sweated and shivered in the forest, weakly urging Harry and Hermione to save themselves and get away before they were discovered. They'd refused him, of course, trying everything they could to keep him alive until help came. It was almost not enough; A fringe of the main Auror Corps had gotten lost and had happened on them purely by accident. If not for that and the antidote they'd carried, Ron would have numbered among one of the more careless casualties of the war.  
  
"I know what you all told me happened, and I know I'll never remember all of it." Ron paused. "But I do remember that one night, I felt like Hermione had set off some of those damned bluebell fires in my stomach. You and Hermione were both mopping my forehead, holding my head up so I could have some water. The both of you were telling me I'd be all right; that I just had to hang in there."  
  
Ron swallowed hard. He could feel Harry's arm trembling in his grip, but he didn't let go. "I remember that it was about the only time I didn't think about the pain or about the war or about what was going to happen to us. I was thinking about your hands. Both of you had your hands on me at the same time, and the only thought in my mind was how bloody wonderful it felt. How right it felt. And then I thought, 'Blimey. I'm going to die, and they'll never know that I loved them and just how I loved them.'"  
  
"Ron -"  
  
He shook his head, and Harry fell silent. "Y'know, Mum always tells anyone who asks that I haven't settled down yet because I don't quite know what I want. That's rubbish. I've known what I wanted since I was 16. I just figured I'd never be able to have what I wanted. And I was right. As usual." A bitter smile curved his lips. "Don't know why I'm not bloody well used to that by now."  
  
Dropping Harry's arm, Ron turned toward the door. "Cheers, mate. Guess I'll see you the weekend, then."  
  
Without waiting for a response, Ron apparated away, deciding that a change of clothes wasn't necessary after all.


	3. Chapter 3

It was impossible to misread Emerson's dejected expression, but Ron decided to ask anyway.  
  
"Well? What happened?"  
  
"She told me to sod off. Not a loss, really. I could see down her shirt. She's using one of those Muggle things to make her baps look bigger'n they are."  
  
"Right. Well, I spotted another one you could try ..."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"The one in the red standing near the wall. She smiled at you."  
  
"Well, maybe she did, but that doesn't mean she'll be keen on coming home with the both of us."  
  
"Only one way to find that out, yeah?" Ron licked his upper lip free of foam, eyes roaming the crowd for other possibilities. Emerson snorted and slumped against the bar, kicking at a bottlecap that had fallen to the floor.  
  
On the whole, Ron could say that he'd had better dates. If he were on a date at all, that was. As the night wore on, he was more certain that he'd read his teammate wrong. Ron had arrived at the pub to see Emerson standing at the bar, head moving from side to side each time a pretty piece of fluff wiggled by. So if he was into blokes at all, it seemed more of an unrealised or casual thing.  
  
After their first drinks, the other man unburdened himself in an inane monologue that gad stretched into the second round, and the third. And the fourth. Ron didn't even pretend to follow much of it, though he had perked up briefly at Emerson's explanation for why he dreaded going out with most of their teammates. "They act like ponces," he explained, "and then expect you to forget all about it the next morning." It was a statement Ron found a bit strange, but after he thought on it a second, he thought it just as well not to ask.  
  
Soon after that, Emerson ran out of steam, and an awkward silence descended, broken only by perfunctory comments on the music, the crowd and the football match on the telly that neither of them was paying much attention to.  
  
Ron found he didn't mind the silence much. Emerson was a much less interesting person - physically and in most other respects - outside his Quidditch kit. In addition, Ron's focus was elsewhere; He was wholly and silently absorbed with his last conversation with Harry. He wished that he'd stayed around and talked to Harry a little more. Not that it would have mattered, most likely. Ron was sure that anything he might have said would have gotten him another gentle reminder that Harry and Hermione were not interested in a three-way, extended romp.  
  
He was still thinking in that vein and mourning the loss of something he'd never had when he suggested that he and Emerson scout out a woman to "share." Ron had thrown out the idea in a tongue-in-cheek manner, thinking that it would jump-start the conversation more than anything else. He'd been taken aback when Emerson had eagerly proclaimed it a fantastic idea. No doubt he was still under the influence of Livor's story.  
  
Ron had thought about telling Emerson that he was only joking, but the more he considered it, and the more he drank, the more he began to come round to the idea. It was fairly obvious that with some coaxing he could get Emerson to go back to his flat with him. But the promise of sex with just him was not very inspiring, to say the least. But trying to juggle Emerson and a woman? Just the thought of adding another person to the mix set Ron to squirming in his seat. It wouldn't be the same as having Harry and Hermione in his bed, but under the circumstances, beggars couldn't be choosers.  
  
"I'm starting to think this was a pretty naff idea." Scowling, Emerson turned toward him. "It's bad enough that we're sharking at all in this crowd. They should be coming to us! We're the best-looking blokes in the place."  
  
"I thought you said you wanted to do this."  
  
"I do!" Despite the vehemence in his voice, Emerson didn't sound very convincing. "But I'm getting tired of getting drinks thrown in my face! Why don't you have a go at it?"  
  
"Keep your pecker up, mate. We're close. I can feel it." Ignoring the question, Ron gestured to the barkeep to top off his drink. "That one's already noticed you. What's the worst that could happen if you buy her a drink and chat her up awhile?"  
  
"She could knee me in the bollocks, is what, when I tell her what I really want. Muggle girls love to do that when they think you're getting cheeky with them."  
  
But he nevertheless finished his drink and marched off, looking about as joyful as an unarmed wizard about to face a patch of Devil's Snare.  
  
Ron watched Emerson emerge at the other side of the pub and begin a cautious approach of their quarry. Ron had taken to calling the girl the "scarlet woman" in his mind both because of the colour of her clothing and for what he thought he could glean of her personality. This one would turn them down, too, most likely. Ron almost hoped she would: She looked far too much like Lavender Brown for his liking. But Emerson seemed to have a "type," and that type tended toward the tall, blonde and vapid.  
  
Ron shifted his focus briefly on the woman he'd wanted Emerson to approach. She was two stools down and had been sitting all alone for an hour, nursing a multicoloured drink that looked like one of the twins' love potions. She was petite and had a serious air about her, and brown, curly hair that reminded him of ... of ... someone.  
  
But Ridley had stubbornly refused to go near the woman, offering a terse "Not my cuppa," in explanation. Ron seriously thought of hexing the git - Muggles be damned - but thought better of it. He didn't fancy being turfed from the team and possibly spending a bit of time in Azkaban over Emerson's idiotic "preferences."  
  
When he'd calmed down some, Ron had attempted to get Emerson to explain his lack of attraction to their neighbour, but after 20 minutes of unsatisfactory conversation, he realised that he didn't give a toss why Emerson wasn't drawn to some nameless woman in a pub. It was Harry's brain he wanted to pick.  
  
He needed to know how Harry - who did like girls to some extent - could look at a woman as beautiful and brilliant as Hermione and not want her. And he could ask the same of her about her apparent lack of attraction to Harry. He was every witch's dream; Witch Weekly had said so, what, five times in the past three years alone? Ron could half understand the idea that people had been friends so long not being able to imagine themselves in any other context, but they supposed were both in love with him weren't they? That seemed a good sight more unlikely than their falling for each other. He was sure he wasn't going to grace any magazine covers anytime soon.  
  
Glancing over to where he'd last seen Emerson, Ron was surprised to see that progress was being made. The woman was leaning close to him, smiling and touching his shoulder. Ron could see her in subtle profile, and he thought she looked rather more attractive when viewed from the side.  
  
Emerson bent to whisper something in the girl's ear. She drew back a little, turned her head and looked straight at Ron. Stunned, Ron gave a tentative smile and a little wave. He couldn't imagine what Emerson could've said, but whatever it was had made her smile even wider. Ron reached for his drink and took a shaky gulp of it as Emerson headed toward him again, his new "friend" in tow.  
  
"Ron, let me introduce you to Tabitha." He was almost panting when he returned to his place. "Tabitha, my mate, Ronald."  
  
Ron looked askance at Emerson; he was speaking in an awfully pretentious voice all of a sudden. The woman grinned and stuck out her hand, which Ron shook cautiously.  
  
"Ronald. You don't look like a 'Ronald.'" Ron thought her accent was about as pleasant as a Mandrake's screech. "You seem more like a Geoff or a Joe. Maybe a Bill."  
  
"Uh ..." Ron wondered how after so much ale, his throat could be so dry. "I have a brother named Bill."  
  
"Fancy that; so do I!" She laughed, and Ron winced. Her laughter was infinitely more grating than her voice. "Strange bit of coincidence, isn't it?"  
  
Ron didn't really think so, but said nothing. He was beginning to wonder if Emerson had lured her over on false pretences. Surely she wouldn't have been so casual if she knew what they really wanted.  
  
"So ..." She looked from Emerson to Ron and back to Emerson again. "If I let the two of you have a go at me, do I get to watch you, too?"  
  
Ron started to speak, but thought better of it. That answered that question, apparently.  
  
"Whatever you want," said Emerson smoothly, giving a little wink that Ron found highly disturbing. "But there's no rush, yeah? Let's relax a bit." Emerson was oblivious to Ron's glower when he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him forward so that he was almost in the girl's lap. "What can we get you to drink, love?"  
  
****  
  
"Oh god, that's so good ... oh right there! Mmm ... is he - is he in, yet? I can't tell ..."  
  
"Patience, love. You'll know it when he's inside. He wants to take his time, you know. No need to rush. Right, mate?"  
  
Ron threw a disgusted glance over his shoulder. "Will you two keep it down? You'll wake the whole bloody floor!"  
  
With an exasperated sigh, he went back to fiddling with the lock to his flat. He used a fairly simple locking charm on his front door, but he couldn't very well whip his wand out, so he was making a show of "unlocking" his door with a key he'd nicked from somewhere.  
  
Unfortunately, Emerson and Tabitha were distracting him from his task. From the time they'd gotten in the lift, the two had been all but glued together, snogging and pawing at each other, paying him very little mind. He thought they'd shag right in the lift, which actually would have been a welcome thing in Ron's view because it would have saved him from having to invite either of those two gits into his home.  
  
Ron's ears went red when he heard some very suspicious slurping noises coming from behind him. Right. Bugger all this. Glancing around the corridor, he carefully took out his wand and muttered the unlocking spell.  
  
He looked round, and his eyes narrowed. They were doing quite a bit of multitasking: Emerson's hand was up Tabitha's skirt and his pants were around his ankles. "Right, then. Let's go inside. Now."  
  
Neither seemed inclined to move, and for a moment, Ron was sorely tempted to go into the flat and shut himself behind as many locking charms as he could manage. Self-doubt surged to the fore and he found himself looking longingly at the lift. What the bloody hell am I thinking, doing this? I should find the girl a cab home and tell throw Emerson in a Floo back to the complex. This is stupid!  
  
A tiny sense of curiosity, and a healthy dollop of randyness won out, however. He thought it might be all right once they were actually inside the flat and doing ... things. He grabbed Emerson by the arm and yanked him inside. As he suspected, Tabitha followed suit, and after a moment's hesitation, Ron went in after them, bracing himself and keeping the lights low.  
  
Ron hung back in the foyer as his guests adjourned to the couch, still snogging. Ridley had parted with his trousers somewhere between the door and the couch, and he was busily undoing all the odd fastenings on Tabitha's dress. When she wiggled out of it, Ron could clearly see that the woman hadn't used any contraptions to make her breasts look larger.  
  
Ron watched. Only watched. He didn't seem to be able to go forward, though he was getting hard. The spark of unease that had kindled in his stomach while they'd been at the pub had spread to just about every part of him. The idea had quickly lost its appeal as he'd spent more time in the joint company of Emerson and Tabitha. It was clear that she was rather loose, which was not only acceptable, but necessary for this kind of experiment. And she seemed to fancy Emerson a bit more than she did him, which was also fine. Ron wouldn't be sad to be shot of her after all of this had ended.  
  
What was not fine was the growing feeling that he was being foolish. Instead of spending a nice, quiet night out with people who actually gave a toss about him, he was watching two people he barely knew and didn't really want to know writhe on his couch. Instead of spending time reassuring Harry and Hermione that their friendship was as strong as ever, he'd stomped off like a petulant child and had taken the first likely bloke and bird who would have him for a one-off. He was responding physically to the sight, yes, because who wouldn't when there was sex going on three feet away from where they were standing? But -  
  
Tabitha's head suddenly popped up and she looked around vaguely. She smiled brightly when she spotted Ron in the shadows. "Oh. There you are. Get your lovely arse over here." Lazily, she beckoned him over. "Help him get me naked."  
  
Ron took two deep breaths and forced himself to move. Stop being a ponce. You wanted to do this, they're here, so get on with it! Just go with it. It might turn out a bit of all right.  
  
But despite his inner pep talk, he was slow getting to the couch. Tabitha was stripped almost bare by the time he'd gotten there, and Emerson was licking a trail from her breasts to her navel. Giggling breathlessly, she fixed her eyes on Ron and reached out to caress the bulge in his trousers.  
  
"Nice and big." Ron moaned when she squeezed him firmly, contriving to undo his zipper and slip her hand inside his trousers. "It's true what they say about tall blokes. Get down here. Touch me ..."  
  
Rubbing his mouth, Ron bent down, deciding that it might be as well to start with a kiss. Her face loomed closer, her lips parted. Ron swallowed hard and closed his eyes . . .  
  
"Oh!"  
  
He felt a violent push on his shoulder, and a sneeze went off right near his ear. Opening his eyes, he saw Tabitha looking rather sheepish. "I - sorry about that." She sat up a little, dabbing daintily at her nose. "It - oh!" She sneezed again, two times in succession.  
  
Emerson lifted his head, looking half-annoyed at having been interrupted. "Are you all right?"  
  
"I ... achoo!" She sat up completely, rubbing at her eyes. "Do you - achoo! - have any - a - a - tamarind in here?"  
  
Ron frowned. "Tamarind? I don't even know what that is."  
  
"It's a - a - achoo!"  
  
"A shoe?"  
  
"It's a spice!" She sniffed loudly. "I'm allergic. I only sneeze when it's around." She sneezed three times and rubbed at her nose again, a little less daintily this time.  
  
A spice? Ron was mystified. "Er ... could it be my cologne?"  
  
She stood up quickly and buried her nose in his neck. "No. It's not that." She sneezed violently into her hand. They both looked at Emerson.  
  
"Here, it isn't me. I don't wear anything. Though I think at practise, I might've spilled some broom pol- ow!" Emerson winced when Ron gave him a swift kick on the ankle. "Er, I mean, it's definitely not me."  
  
"Well, it's something!" Tabitha looked all around, waving her hand in front of her face. "It's takeaway isn't it? Takeaway food is filled with it, especially the Indian dishes."  
  
Ron shook his head. "I've barely had anything at all today -"  
  
"Oi, mate, I do smell something," said Emerson, standing up. "It's pretty good, actually." Next to him, Tabitha sneezed again. "Oh. Sorry, love."  
  
Sniffing the air, Ron didn't register anything, but when he looked around, he noticed a brown, lumpy package on the stack of books that served as his dining room table. What the ...?  
  
Advancing toward it carefully, Ron saw that it was not a parcel at all. It was a bag, spotted a bit with grease, and a most delicious smell was emanating from inside it. On the side of the bag was a slip of paper, which he had stoop down to read.  
  
Ron -  
  
We decided to bring dinner to you, since you couldn't come out. See you very soon.  
  
Love, Harry and Hermione.  
  
Ron fingered the note and smiled in spite of himself. It wasn't the first time he'd walked in to find such gifts from one or the both of them, but tonight, it was especially welcome. When Tabitha and Emerson left, he could open the cartons and eat delicious-smelling food and be reminded that he was loved. Maybe not in the way he hoped, but life was very rarely perfect. Well, his life wasn't, anyway.  
  
"Sorry, I think I know what it is. My friends were here and dropped something off. I didn't know anything about it." He grabbed the bag and held it against his chest. "I'll just put it -"  
  
He felt a frisson of electricity jolt him from top to toe, and the bag suddenly began to glow a bright blue, blinding him momentarily. A tug at his navel that had nothing to do with hunger came soon thereafter.  
  
"Bloody -"  
  
"- hell!" Ron gasped as he rematerialised outside a squat, long, dimly lit building. Ron had to take a moment to get his wits about him; Portkeying when you were expecting to was jarring enough, but being yanked without so much as a warning was a good sight worse. Ron remembered his mum saying that quite a few elderly wizards had died that way. As it was, his stomach was not feeling so great. The trip had sort of sloshed all the liquor about, and his head was starting to spin.  
  
Taking deep breaths to slow his heartbeat, he chucked the bag and its contents into a nearby dustbin and had a look around. In seconds, he recognised the place. It was the Straw Mattress, a dodgy sort of wizarding hotel on the edge of Muggle London. He and Harry had stayed there once or twice while they were still looking about for posts after the war. That had been years ago, though, and Ron had almost forgotten the place existed. He couldn't imagine why Harry and Hermione would Portkey him there. They both had flats in London now, after all -  
  
"Ron?"  
  
He looked up sharply. Coming round a corner of the building was Harry, holding a lit wand at arm's length. Ron couldn't see all of Hermione behind him, but he marked the appearance of a few tendrils of bushy hair that were visible just over Harry's shoulder. Neither of them looked overly concerned, which made Ron even angrier. They'd just yanked him out of his flat in the middle of the night, and they had the cheek to look as relaxed as if they were all going to a Weird Sisters concert.  
  
"We set a timing charm on my wand to go off when the Portkey did," began Harry with a thready smile. "We didn't want to keep you -"  
  
" - What the bloody hell do you two think you're playing at?" Ron hissed between chattering teeth. He was wearing only a rather thin jumper and the air was bitingly cold on his arms. "I had a Muggle in my flat just now! If she saw this thing cork off, then it's my balls. We're supposed to be extra careful in Chudley around Muggles, because the place is full of them!"  
  
"A Muggle?"  
  
"She?" This came from Hermione, who didn't look very happy. "Harry said you said you were going out with your teammates."  
  
"Um. Right." Ron gulped and felt some of his anger ebb. He couldn't very well explain that part of the evening to the two of them. "I did. But it got boring, so one of my mates and I went to a Muggle pub. He ran into an old girlfriend there and we ... uh, talked awhile."  
  
Hermione didn't look convinced. "You took her back to your flat?"  
  
"Well, Emerson - that's the bloke's name - lives in the dorms at the practise facility. He couldn't well take a Muggle there. He asked if he could, ah, borrow my flat for an hour or two. I was about to leave anyway, when I got your message." Ron felt a little bad about lying to them, but they'd hacked him off royally with their stunt, so he figured they were about even.  
  
"What's this all about then?" Ron angled himself so that he could glare at the two of them at the same time. "If it was an emergency, you could've owled or rung me on that fellytone you keep saying I ought to carry."  
  
Ron fingered the tiny mobile in his pants' pocket, and realised to his great embarrassment that his fly was still unzipped. "I, uh ... and why are we out here? I'm freezing my bollocks off." He pretended to tug his shirt down and he quickly zipped up with his other hand. "Can't we go inside and get something warm to drink, at least? I reckon you owe me that much!"  
  
"Actually, I've gotten us a room for the night." Hermione nervously licked her lips. "We know you have to be back in Chudley in the morning, but -"  
  
"Have you both gone completely mad? We're in London! Why are we at a hotel when we could be at one of your flats?"  
  
"Er, yeah." Harry cleared his throat. "But we figured it might be nice - tonight - to, uh, sort of be on neutral ground."  
  
"Neutral ground?" Ron took a few steps backward. It seemed clear that he hadn't been the only one drinking. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means, Ron, that we've been thinking." Hermione stepped forward and hooked her arm through his. "Harry and I had a very long talk today ..."  
  
"... And we decided that neither of us was ready to give you up, not now that we know that you feel for us what we feel for you." Harry moved nearer, wrapping an arm around Ron's waist. "So we decided to think a little more about how we could work it out. And we came up with a nice plan, we think."  
  
The pain in Ron's head lessened immediately and his cock began to perk up. They were so close and he was so warm now. ... He could smell Hermione's hair and the fresh-scrubbed scent of Harry's skin. Suddenly, he was grateful that they were on either side of him, because he felt as if he were about to fall over.  
  
"Are you - you're saying -"  
  
"You win, Ron," Hermione said softly. "It's not what I hoped for us, and it's not what Harry hoped for, either, but we both agree that it's time that you get what you want, for a change. As far as we're in a position to give it to you, we can compromise."  
  
Ron looked over at Harry and saw him nod almost imperceptibly. He'd told Hermione, then, about the conversation they had earlier, which Ron admittedly hoped would happen. But he still couldn't wrap his head around it, though. Was this all out of pity? They'd only told him anything at all because he'd been such a pathetic arse at Luna's party. They had been so dead set against it earlier; Ron wasn't sure that he'd been so eloquent to Harry that they'd come around this quickly.  
  
"But you said that it was never going to happen. I thought you two didn't want each other."  
  
"We don't," said Harry quickly.  
  
"Then how -"  
  
"Well, that's what we have to talk about," Hermione said, frowning a little. "This is going to take a bit of finessing in order for it to work. We'd like to discuss those details with you, Ron, before we go any further."  
  
"Discuss. Right. Brilliant." Ron was hardly aware that he was even speaking. Their hands. He had their hands on him again, and it felt as amazing as it had the first time. It helped, too, he supposed, that he was conscious enough to be able to fully appreciate it. But the hands sealed it. Now that they knew all about his feverish desires in the forest and what their combined touch did to him, there was no bloody way they were having him on. This was real.  
  
"I suppose the sooner we talk, the sooner we can ..." He groaned softly as the possibilities of what might go on between them later presented themselves for inspection in his mind. "What the hell are we waiting for?"  
  
"Nothing, now," Hermione murmured, pulling away just enough to guide Ron by the elbow toward the entrance to the doorway. As they passed through the doorway, Ron discerned a sharp, peppery aroma carried on the air, and he smiled so hard that he thought his face would break.


	4. Chapter 4

Visions of being the freckled filling in a Harry-and-Hermione sandwich were dancing in Ron's head as he took a seat on the smallish-bed in the room he, Harry and Hermione stumbled into at the very back of the inn. Hermione had made vague noises about it being the only room available and it wasn't at all what she'd expected, but Ron was having quite a bit of fun imagining how all three of them could pile in without using an enlarging charm.  
  
Harry and Hermione had taken seats opposite him on chairs that looked like upended cauldrons with cushions on them. After a few seconds of staring, silence and daydream-induced wriggling on his part, Ron cleared his throat.  
  
"Right, so I guess we should talk about how all this is all going to work."  
  
Hermione's face lit up. "Yes - yes, that's exactly what we need to do." Ron thought she sounded profoundly relieved, and that made him a little nervous. "We don't have all the details figured out quite yet ..."  
  
As she spoke, she fished a length of scroll from the pocket of her skirt. "But they're relatively simple. We just need to go over some of the ground rules first."  
  
"Er ... ground rules?" Ron cast a wary eye on the parchment. It seemed to be liberally marked with red ink and he was uncomfortably reminded of his old potions essays. "There need to be ground rules?"  
  
"Of course. This is going to be a fairly straightforward arrangement, but we need to be clear on certain points," said Hermione, glancing down at the parchment. "It ... hmm, I may have made a mistake here ..."  
  
She accioed a quill and began to scribble on the page. "Oh hell, I've messed that completely up." She looked over at Harry. "Harry, why don't you tell Ron what we've come up with while I rework this."  
  
"Right." Harry rubbed his already untidy hair into further disarray. "Basically, Hermione and I tried to figure out a way where we could get what we wanted and you could get what you wanted -"  
  
"Meaning, you get me and I get the two of you, right?" Ron understood Harry's meaning perfectly, but it was pure bliss being able to speak the words aloud.  
  
"Exactly. So, we figured that the best way to go about it was to, um ... take turns with you."  
  
At those words, Ron's eyes slid shut. The image of Harry fucking him hard and fast while Hermione watched and prepared herself for him played like a Muggle film behind his eyelids. He wished that he hadn't done up his zip; he felt about ready to burst of his trousers now.  
  
"I ... I think I like that idea a lot."  
  
"That's wonderful, Ron. We'd hoped you would." He cracked open one eye and saw a tiny frown creasing her forehead. "But to make this work, you have to understand that it will take a great deal of flexibility on your part."  
  
"And a lot of stamina, too," added Harry.  
  
Bloody hell. They're gonna kill me, the two of them. But what the hell; what a bloody way to go! "I reckon I could handle all that," he said with a smile. "I am a Quidditch player, after all. If I can handle Quaffles coming straight at my head, I can handle the two of you."  
  
Harry laughed, but Hermione's frown became slightly more pronounced. "We've worked out a tentative schedule that will take us through the next two months." She held out the parchment. "Just ignore the crossed-out parts; I forgot that next month has five weeks instead of four."  
  
Still smiling, Ron unfolded the parchment and gave it a quick glance. Then he stopped and read it a bit more carefully. It looked like a calendar to him, with dates and days and such written neatly in small boxes. The difference was, on some of the boxes, there was a green checkmark. On others, there was a blue checkmark, and on still others, a yellow checkmark. There were some notes at the bottom of the scroll, but Hermione had crossed them out, and he couldn't make head or tail of what they said.  
  
The smile slid from his face. "What's this?"  
  
"It's a schedule," said Hermione slowly. Ron looked up in time to see her dart a glance Harry's way. "The days with green checks indicate the days you'll spend with Harry. The blue checks are the days you'll spend with me. And the yellow -"  
  
Ron was on his feet before she could finish. "What? You can't be serious! That's what you mean by taking turns with me?" His face reddened and the fantasies ran out of his mind like liquid from an overturned cauldron. "I'll get one of you depending on whatever bloody checkmark is next to whatever bloody day?"  
  
"Essentially, yes. Harry just told you that we want to take turns being with you. What did you think we meant?" Hermione stared up at him, her voice turning sharp. "Harry and I believe that the best way to do this is to allow you to be with us equally. In separate relationships."  
  
"Separate ..." Ron gaped for a minute. "Wait a minute - I thought you said I could have the both of you!"  
  
"You will have the both of us, Ron. One weekend at a time." Harry looked very concerned. "A minute ago, you said you liked the idea."  
  
A minute ago, I was imagining both of you sucking my cock at the same time! Ron fumed a second more, not sure what to say. All he could think was that somehow he'd been fooled again. He thought it wouldn't be that easy to change their minds, and of course it wasn't.  
  
"So this means that the three of us won't -"  
  
"Ron, Harry and I have told you from the beginning that we are not at all interested in being with each other." Hermione looked somewhat cross. "I thought that you understood that!"  
  
"Yeah, but ... I thought you meant that you didn't want to shag each other, but that I'd be able to be with both of you at the same time." Ron folded his arms. "There's a difference, you know!"  
  
"There is," agreed Harry quietly. "But that's not going to happen either. We talked about this; neither of us fancies watching you shag the other. It's just ... Hermione and I want to stay friends, Ron. Doing it your way would be crossing a line neither of us wants to go over."  
  
"All day today, I did some research into polyamorous relationships - specifically triads, which is what this will be, for the most part," continued Hermione, "and Harry and I decided that our best option was the 'Vee.'"  
  
Ron simply stared. "The what?"  
  
"Vee. As in the letter. It's rather a common term when describing a type of three-way arrangement." Hermione took the quill and drew a 'V' on a spare piece of parchment. "At the bottom of a 'Vee' is what's called a pivot point. See? It's the point at which the arms of the letter are joined. When talking about a relationship of this sort, the pivot is the person who without which, there would be no relationship. You'd be the pivot point, Ron, and Harry and I the arms. Notice that in a V, the arms are not at all close to each other, but they are literally joined to the pivot point. So Harry and I would be joined to you, and not to each other."  
  
"We thought to start, we could alternate spending the weekend with you," said Harry, stretching out his legs. "Then we thought that once your season ended, we could talk about spending whole weeks together - you and me one week, and you and Hermione another."  
  
"And on the months where there are five weeks instead of four, the fifth week you would have to yourself." Hermione nibbled her lower lip. "We would ask that you don't see either of us - well, romantically - on your free weeks. It would upset the balance and make things a bit unfair. Harry and I decided -"  
  
"Are the two of you even listening to yourselves?" Ron shouted, feeling as if he were at the end of his tether. "You and Harry 'decided this' or 'talked about' that. Did any of you stop and think to ask me what I thought about being passed around like a House Cup? Having to look at a fucking schedule to see who I'm allowed to snog that day?"  
  
"It's called a compromise, Ron! None of us are getting exactly what we want!" Hermione had stood, too, and her face was boiling. "How dare you insinuate that Harry and I are being selfish when we're doing all we can to accommodate you!"  
  
"You lot are the ones who dragged me out here, so don't give me that rubbish about being selfish. I'm not holding a wand to either of your heads to do this. You came up with this mad idea on your own!" Incensed, he turned for the door, navigating the room in loping strides. "You didn't need to me any favours; I was willing to let it drop the first time round."  
  
"It was the only way!" Hermione burst out, stopping him just as he reached for the doorknob. "We couldn't have you otherwise, and ... and that wasn't acceptable, Ron. Harry and I needed to find a way to work this out. There isn't another person in the world with whom I'd even consider such an arrangement, and we both loathe the idea of having to share you at all! But - but -"  
  
"- But we love you," Harry cut in quietly when Hermione began to sniffle. "And you're worth it."  
  
Hand still stretching out toward the door, Ron was brought up short by Hermione's tears and the quietly pleading quality of Harry's voice. The cutting remark he'd been preparing died on his lips. Turning slowly around again, he saw Hermione's face buried in Harry's shoulder. Harry was rubbing her back soothingly but hadn't taken his eyes off him.  
  
"Hell," Ron mumbled, his shoulders drooping. "Bloody buggering hell."  
  
It was both a surreal and sobering moment, for it became clear to Ron that Hermione had a point. He was being something of a selfish prat. He was stubbornly holding onto his own fantasies while the two of them had given up their own dreams of what they wanted in a relationship to embrace a totally alternate possibility.  
  
You're worth it, Harry had said, and had meant it. Ron had never felt worth very much most of his life. And here he had two people who would have zero problems finding lovers willing to turn their lives upside down to be with him. And he was rowing with them about it?  
  
"We're not holding a wand to your head either, mate. If you don't want this, then we can pretend we never had this talk," said Harry quietly. "But this is what we can give you. Maybe it wouldn't work out the way we have it planned now, but we can't know that, can we, if we don't try. We're willing to have a go at it. If you're not, then, well, that's your choice."  
  
Ron started to speak, but decided he'd do well to sit down again. Walking slowly back to the bed, he sank down onto it, staring at the floor. He felt Harry's gaze on the top of his head, but Ron kept his eyes down, not wanting Harry to read the indecision there.  
  
Ron hesitated, hearing perfectly well the voice inside his head that was screaming not to be a bloody fool and to take was being offered with both hands. He thought of Tabitha and Emerson. He would have gotten from them what Harry and Hermione were refusing now, but then what? An hour or two of a good and kinky romp, but then what? Alone again, most likely, and what to show for it other than rumpled sheets, a few strategically placed bite marks, and a yawning emptiness that could be filled ultimately by only two people. Two people who very likely would never give him another chance if he walked out the door right now.  
  
It's them I need. Not my cock sucked by two different people. Not to fuck and be fucked at the same time. Though that'd be nice to try, I'll admit. Ron swallowed hard, his mind whirling. Dreaming about that won't keep me warm at night ... won't make me any less lonely. Might make even lonelier, actually ...  
  
His glance fell on the schedule and he picked it up again, studying it critically. It seemed a lot of thought had been put into it. Of course, he didn't expect anything less from Hermione. There were very few days of the week, it seemed, where he would not be with one of them, and he noted with some surprise and a great deal of pleasure that even their occasional Friday-night dinners in Muggle London were written in, too. So they would spend time together occasionally, just as always. Ron had a brief thought that perhaps it might be awkward, but then, if so,  
  
"Some of this doesn't make sense to me," he said after a very long pause. "The free days: What if I didn't want to spend them alone? Couldn't I spend a day with each one of you? And what happens if Mum invites all three of us for dinner, but I'm only supposed to be with one of you that day?"  
  
Hermione lifted her head a little. Her cheeks were slightly damp, but there was a hint of optimism in her expression. "I - well, those are points we can discuss and negotiate. Do you want to ... negotiate, Ron?"  
  
"On one condition." Ron made a show of thinking about it, turning the parchment over and over in his hands. "I don't fancy these yellow checks that are supposed to show my free weekends. Can't we use orange instead of yellow? Cannons colours and all."  
  
They gawked at him and then turned to each other and then looked at him again as if they were waiting for the punchline of a joke. And then he smiled, and everything changed. Hermione gasped and then gave what Ron could only term a squeal of joy, and next to her Harry whooped.  
  
Both of them went for him at once, their combined weight toppling him onto the bed. Hermione's quill was digging into his back, but under the circumstances, Ron didn't think it would be very polite to complain.


End file.
